


When I'm Here, I'm Home

by SilverFaerie



Category: Carpe Noctem, Vampire: The Masquerade, White Wolf, World of Darkness - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Ficlet, Live Music, One Night Stand, Ophelia has a nice night for once, The Echo Chamber, Toreador - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-19
Updated: 2017-04-19
Packaged: 2018-10-20 22:04:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10671687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverFaerie/pseuds/SilverFaerie
Summary: Ophelia travels back to London to see one of her favourite musicians play live and has a wonderful time.





	When I'm Here, I'm Home

When Ophelia steps off the train platform at Kings Cross, it’s like being able to breathe again. London has its own particular flavour of smog and she much prefers it to any other city in the world. The high arches let glimpses of the night sky through the glass as she dances along towards the barriers, her hands making waves in the air in time to the music in her headphones. It’s been far too long; every time she comes back she has the same thought. But then, she reasons, if she never left, she’d never get this wonderful feeling of coming home.

She smiles as she walks, sidestepping the people who’ve already been drinking since the beautiful summer afternoon: she, of course, had been asleep. The whole city seems to be in excellent spirits and her steps are light as she retreads the familiar streets to Camden. It would be much faster to take the tube but, as she removes her coat and ties it around her waist, it is much too lovely of an evening to be stuck underground. The stars are bright and she catches the moon in glimpses between the tall buildings.

She hums to herself as she walks, smiling at the people she recognises wearing the t-shirt for the singer she is seeing tonight. He’s a bizarre sort of performer, his style an eclectic mix of folk, punk rock, some classic rock and even a little country? It’s confusing but she can’t get enough of it; she’s been listening to his latest album on repeat for weeks, spending wonderful hours in her apartment entranced and dancing around by herself. And when he announced a surprise gig in London, it took her all of five minutes to book her flight back home to catch him. 

His guitar playing is masterful of course, but it’s his lyrics, that’s what gets her the most. He captures something that she can never seem to. His songs about London have often brought her to tears with homesickness, he obviously knows the city as well as she does: knows its heart the same way. The way he floats between genres and styles, poems for lost loves and rages against the darkness… She couldn’t bear the thought of missing a chance to see him live, so here she is. 

Dressed in a vintage t-shirt and torn black skinny jeans; it isn’t her usual ensemble but she doesn’t want to draw too much attention tonight. She’s happy to blend in with the crowd, in fact it’s a large part of the reason she’s here. The mass of bodies, all sharing the same music, is something she loved even before she was turned and now it’s one of the few things that still feels the same, well almost.

The line is long and she walks along it, complementing a few people along the way if they happen to be wearing a rare t-shirt or have particularly interesting hair. She grins the whole way up to the door, where after a few words to the doorman and the people standing at the front, everyone agrees to let her go first. That was it for the night though, she promised herself, just enough Presence to get through the door and then she was back to pretending to be her old self. (To be honest, her old-self probably could have talked her way to the front as well, but she didn’t have the patience for that this evening.)

The space is a dingy little bar, dark and with sticky floors. She’s been here before and she loves it. It’s perfect for a night like this. He doesn’t need anything extravagant; this bar is as purely London as he is. Ophelia orders herself a bottle of water, just to have something in her hand, and then makes her way over to the stage, securing herself a spot near the front.

There isn’t due to be an opening act tonight and she’s kind of glad of it; as much as she loves hearing new music she didn’t want any time to be wasted before the noise-curfew. She chats excitedly with some of the others around her: their opinions on the new album, hopes for tonight’s set, where they’ve travelled from. She feels so much lighter, barely able to keep herself still as the excitement begins to build. And then the lights dim and he steps out on the stage.

He plays the first few chords and she’s already entranced, but luckily the crowd does its job and all rushes forwards at once, jolting her back to the present. She laughs and sings along with every song, smiling and dancing with the rest of the audience. It’s a fantastic set, full of his classic songs, a few covers and of course a few tracks from the new album. And when, towards the end of the evening, he pulls out an acoustic guitar and a stool, she can’t stop herself from crying as he begins a set of his most heart-breaking ballads: real tears, saline. 

She feels the sting in her chest when he sings about his lost lovers, the anger about his family, the pain of his dead once-lover… She feels not the usual shallow emotions of her dead heart, but something real. Real pain, real loss, real love. Someone beside her wraps their arms around her shoulders and she holds them in return. The whole crowd reaching out with hands and arms for each other. 

And then he smiles and stands and rushes backstage to get his electric guitar back and it’s like a switch. The crowd erupts into manic dancing and laughing as he plays the rest of his set: high-energy, full of positivity melodies with choruses that everyone knows. They jump until the floor shakes and she can see the sweat beading all over him, his shirt covered in dark patches and it’s all just such a rush. The ocean of bodies move around her and she feels like just another part of the wave; just another ordinary girl at the gig.

Eventually the final chord of the last song rings out and he leaves the stage. She snags a set-list and shoves it unceremoniously into her shirt. Everyone around her is still full of energy and laughter and she grins, gushing to everyone who will listen about what a fantastic set it was. She laughs along with them, all the way out of the building into the chill night air. Drinking it all in, she wanders down the alleyway to the side of the club and leans against the cold brick.

London is how it always is: drunken people stumbling around her, cigarette butts and gum and trash covering the streets. There’s vomit in the alley from someone else that evening, and broken glass. Rats pick through the bins. None of it touches her right now, right now she’s riding the high of a great performance. 

A cough disturbs her from her thoughts and she turns to look. She hadn’t realised she’d been standing by the stage door, but there he was, a cigarette hanging from his lips and his hands gesturing that he wanted to borrow a light. She laughed and drew out her lighter from her pocket, tossing it over to him.

“Did you catch the show?” He mumbles cheerfully as he lights up.

She nods, huge grin spreading across her face. “Phenomenal.”

“Thanks love, I had a pretty fucking great time too.” He slips the lighter back into her pocket and leans up against the wall beside her, rolling his head back and closing his eyes. 

“Honestly, there’s nothing like it.”

She mumbles and nods back her agreement. 

“You staying close by?”

She rattles off her street; she’s been renting a place in Shoreditch – a little hipster, but still a few years away from becoming gentrified.

“Shit, authentic London girl aren’t you?” 

She laughs. “Born and bred.”

He looks her up and down with a smile. “Hey… So do you fancy…?”

He doesn’t even get to finish the question before she’s in front of him: kissing him hard and pushing him up against the wall. He half-laughs, half-groans into the kiss, snaking one hand into her back pocket and the other into her hair. They stay like that for a while, just kissing underneath the sodium lamp, when she grabs his wrist with a wicked smirk and draws him towards the taxi rank.

She mumbles her address to the driver, barely losing contact with the musician. Hands move everywhere, lips graze every spot they can reach as the taxi speeds along the streets. When they get to her door, she fumbles with her keys as his arms hold tight around her waist but eventually they get inside. Clothes are quickly discarded, leaving a trail to the bedroom.

He’s covered in sweat and his skin is almost unbearably hot as they collapse into each other’s’ arms on the bed, still laughing softly. He teases and she giggles, and then she pounces and he groans and they spend the night consumed in each other. His skin moves slick against hers and she sinks into the mattress, clawing at his back and pulling him deeper. She kisses his neck and they both declare statements of love that they know will evaporate in the morning, but for now she does love him. Sex with humans, it was just so infinitely and indescribably better than the cold and almost mechanical Kindred. Real passion, real sweat. She loves it so much more, the way it makes her feel so much closer to that bliss of feeling human again.

And when they both climax and he collapses on top of her, they both laugh again before he rolls over to the side of the bed, holding her close. She watches him as he sleeps, keeping still so as not to disturb him. Closing her eyes, she even pretends to sleep also, at least for a little while. But the dawn is fast approaching and eventually she untangles herself. 

She throws her clothes on in silence, still smiling to herself. She scribbles a note and leaves it on the bedside table, signing it with a lipstick kiss:

“Thanks for an amazing night. I’ve never fucked a rockstar before ;) I’ll call the next time I’m in London, love Ophelia x”

She trusts he’ll get the message and leave when he wakes up in the morning. On a last thought, she gently kisses his forehead, enjoying the little mumble and smile he makes in his sleep, before wandering down to the room in the basement and locking the door.


End file.
